


Mahanon Goes Back in Time

by Feynite



Series: Looking Glass Kid!Fic AU's [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humour, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of a tumblr prompt requesting one of my Looking Glass 'Baby' AU's where a male Lavellan who was friends with Solas ends up being back in time, raised in ancient Elvhenan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Being a baby is boring, sometimes.

Like, yes, obviously, there’s the horrific grief and the weirdness and the wonders of the ancient world to keep him occupied, and there’s no lack of people queuing up to pay attention to him - spirits included - but still. There’s a lot of time that Mahanon spends just sort of lying in the nursery crib that his new ‘mamas’ give to him, with nothing to occupy him accept for his thoughts.

And his awkward motor control.

And trying to figure out where exactly the poop must be going whenever he soils himself.

…Look, it’s better than thinking about everyone being dead and crying and then having Nurevas or Tarensa come in and fuss over him. Usually. Sometimes.

Sometimes usually.

Point being, once he’s settled in to this situation enough to get bored, he starts making mental lists.

Pros to the Ancient World:

\- Lots of magic everywhere, everyone is magic, no one cares that he’s a mage

\- Apparently pretty good childcare systems, orphaned forest babies are well-looked after, at least

\- Shiny

\- Immortality (a tentative plus point, he’s pretty sure it’s probably a neutral)

\- Not currently a smouldering wreck

Cons to the Ancient World:

\- He is a baby

\- Some very troubling structural issues seem to be afoot

\- Evanuris are everywhere

\- He is a baby

\- _Too_  shiny

\- Definite lack of familiar friends and faces, because everyone but him is dead

\- Now he’s gotta decide if he’s going to let this world go to shit just so his own might have another chance

\- He is a baby

\- Emotions are visible now _why_ how is he supposed to repress them until no one can notice them anymore?

\- Also he is a baby

It’s a pretty comprehensive summation, he decides. He really hopes Solas wasn’t envisioning a hasty time limit to all of this, because so far he’s managed to master making awkward noises, blowing spit bubbles, holding his bottle himself, and grabbing his own feet. And sitting up. But not much else. The Keeper always said he was a prodigy, but there’s only so much he can do as a small, doughy little ball of pudge.

Was he this chubby as a baby the first time around?

That doesn’t seem right.

The only consolation - and it is a _mixed bag_  he does not mind saying - is that somewhere out there, is Solas. Well. Or maybe he hadn’t been born yet. Mahanon doesn’t know for sure, but either out there right now, or shortly to arrive, is Solas. Who might be just about the only person he cares about who isn’t completely doomed in all of this.

He’d be deeply suspicious of that, except he knows too much to think that Solas wanted it that way.

Still, as he manages his first toddling steps in the ancient world, he adds to that first mental list he made. Pros - ancient elves are _really pretty._  Cons - ruffly baby clothes are apparently A Thing, and chubby toddler legs can only get him so far when he’s trying to escape. Pros - no one really seems to mind nudity all that much. Cons - everyone notices babies, though, and so the sight of a naked toddler streaking down the halls draws a pretty big audience. Pros - toddlers can run faster than Mahanon thought. Cons - on balance, crashing into Solas’ legs whilst butt naked and fleeing from an outfit that looks like Josephine’s sister would wear it on a hat is not how he envisioned meeting Solas again.

For the first time.

Again for the first time.

All thoughts of escape and tactical evasion fly out of his head as he stares up at Solas, and Solas blinks down at him. He falls right onto his butt, and just looks up and up. It’s… he’s… 

He’s wearing crystal hair toggles.

And lots of white floofy bits.

And he looks all… so… all… 

_Young._

“Are you alright, little one?” Solas asks, in that steady, concerned voice of his.

Mahanon bursts into tears.

So, to summarise - his glorious reintroduction to his former friend slash mentor slash ally involved running into him naked, staring at him in unabashed fascination, and then bursting into tears. Not his best first impression, he can admit. He’s rarely _glad_  to be a baby, but as he’s not sure that this wouldn’t be his reaction even under non-baby-fied circumstances, right then he is.

Nurevas picks that moment to come racing around the corridor, and Solas offers her a lot of apologies and looks at Mahanon with a worried frown, while Nurevas tuts and picks him up, and tells him that _this_  is why good little boys don’t flee from their changing tables while their mama’s back is turned.

She moves to carry him away, and Mahanon abandons whatever shred of dignity he has left to let out a watery ‘nnnnn!’ noise and make grabby-hands at Solas.

Nurevas pauses.

Solas blinks at him, again.

“Nnn! Sa!” Mahanon insists, not even sure where _he’s_  going with this right now, except that he’s choking down an irrational fear that if Solas leaves his sight as things are, he might never see him again. He strains over Nurevas’ shoulder until she obligingly moves closer to the other elf.

Mahanon pats a tiny hand against his cheek. Solid enough that it’s nearly a smack; but soft enough to allow for plausible deniability.

Coming from a baby, and all.

“Sa!” he manages again. “Sala!”

He huffs at himself.

Nurevas’ eyes widen, though, and she jostles him a bit in her arms. Getting his attention back on her.

“Little one, are you trying to say ‘Solas’?” she asks. Then she glances over at the elf in question, her gaze narrowing a bit. “When have you met?”

Solas shakes his head, obviously at something of a loss.

“Never, to my knowledge,” he says.

Mahanon frowns and concentrates, summon up a few spit bubbles as he tries to get his mouth to cooperate. Who knew talking was this hard? And here he used to do so much of it.

“Saaooo. Ssso. Sollla. Sola!” he manages, clenching a fist and then smacking at his mouth in irritation, until Nurevas gently pulls his hand back.

Both she and Solas are gaping now, though.

Mahanon settles a determined glare onto the man of the hour, and points a pudgy finger at him.

“Solas!” he declares.

Yes!

In your face, infantile motor functions! Ha! He got it!

For a moment, though, in the wake of his triumphant giggling, the corridor goes quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

“…That was not his first word, was it?” Solas finally asks, looking a little bit worried and a little bit intrigued, too.

“No,” Nurevas says, and lets out a breath of her own. She leans in and kisses his cheek. “Though your sister probably would have appreciated it if you’d managed her name before a stranger’s. How does he even know it?”

“Perhaps a spirit somehow conveyed it…?” Solas suggests, obviously clutching at straws.

 _I heard it in a dream,_  Mahanon thinks wryly back at him.

He can’t even bother to worry about whether or not that was too conspicuously weird of him, though.

Solas.

He found Solas.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes Mahanon feels kind of like an asshole.

Well. That’s not _new_.

But sometimes he feels kind of like an asshole for something that isn’t even his fault, really. He didn’t ask to get flung back in time as a baby. He didn’t ask to get adopted by what he’s beginning to suspect might be two of the most supportive parents in the history of everything. He didn’t _mean_  to deceive them into thinking he was an honest-to-goodness baby, although he’s kind of glad for it, sometimes.

For survival, and all.

But still, sometimes he feels like an asshole, when he wanders off and Nurevas comes chasing after him, with that look of fear in her eyes. Dancing at the edges of the air. Or when Tarensa brings him a new ‘toy’ and he can only manage about five seconds of interest in it, because he’s not actually a baby and there’s only so much anyone can do with stuffed animals and fuzzy bouncing balls.

The times when he _most_  feels like an asshole, though, are the ones when he wakes them up in the middle of the night because he’s screaming.

A few days after his first encounter with Fluffy Ancient Solas, he has another one of _those_  dreams. He tries to hold it in, but he wakes up screaming again, calling out for voices he knows can’t answer him.

It takes a minute, and he almost dares to hope that nobody heard.

But then the door to the nursery opens up, and a gentle hand settles onto his stomach. He looks up and sees Nurevas peering down at him. Her hair all loose, and her other hand still brushing the edges of sleep from her eyes.

 _Alright, thanks for the check-in,_  Mahanon thinks. _Nothing more to see here. I’ll just… lay here quietly until morning, I think._

_Sorry for disturbing you._

“Another bad dream, little heart?” Nurevas asks him.

He nods. His throat’s too thick to even begin angling for words, all things considered.

Nurevas keeps rubbing his tummy, which feels pretty nice, actually. Gentle, soothing strokes, and then she starts humming. It’s not a tune that Mahanon knew before he came back here. But it’s been growing on him, even if it’s very repetitive. Just a gentle cadence of sound that works out pretty good with the thrumming of his heartbeat. He lets out a breath and his eyelids droop shut again.

 _See? Baby’s gone back to sleep. Now you can, too,_  he thinks. But somehow it’s like she can _tell_ that he’s not quite there yet. Somehow, Nurevas always stays, humming her tune until he falls entirely asleep. And when he can’t - which seems to be the case for tonight - she scoops him up out of his crib.

“Come on, then,” she says, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Mahanon doesn’t think he’s ever been cuddled so much before in his _life._  Well, except maybe for the first time he was a baby. Not that he recalls.

“Sorry,” he mumbles out. His mouth decides to add in a few extra ‘b’ sounds to the ‘abelas’ for some reason, and it comes out more ‘babla’, but Nurevas somehow divines his meaning anyway.

“You are not in trouble, my baby,” she tells him.

 _Not what I meant,_ Mahanon thinks. _And I’m not really a baby._  But he only lets out another long breath, as she carries him into her bedroom. Tarensa’s there, too. She usually is, even though she has her own room. That seems to be pretty standard for ancient elves, he’s noticed. Everyone gets their own space. It seems simultaneously really convenient and weirdly isolating to him.

Not that it’s easy to feel isolated _right now,_  with Nurevas’ heartbeat under his ear, and Tarensa blinking up at them in the gloom; her hair all askew, her voice rough from sleep as she asks if it was a dream again.

He gets nestled into the warm blankets next to her, and Tarensa brushes a hand over his head and then takes one of his chubby little hands into her own, running her thumb over the backs of his fingers. Nurevas climbs back into the bed, sandwiching him safely between the two of them, and after a couple of minutes, takes over lullaby duties.

Mahanon lets out another breath - shakier than most - and a few tears slip down his cheeks.

It’s not fair, really.

None of it.

 _I’m sorry,_  he thinks. Although now he’s not even sure if he’s apologizing to his adoptive parents, or to his dead world and friends, or to Solas, or… or anyone else. To his clan. To the world around him, that’s probably going to have a lot of upheaval on its hands not matter _what_  he does. _I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not better. I’m sorry._

Tarensa pulls him closer and Nurevas wraps her arms around the both of them, as his silent tears turn to hiccoughs, and then to sobs.

“Sorry,” he blurts out again. “Sorry, sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for, Mahanon,” Tarensa tells him. “You did nothing wrong.”

That’d be a lot nicer, he thinks, if it was true.

But it still feels good to hear, he thinks. So maybe it’s okay if, in the quiet darkness of the bedroom, sandwiched between the two of them, he just… lets himself feel like it counts. Like someone could actually _know_  the summary of his failures and still feel like he’d done nothing wrong.

Because he’d really tried. He really had. He might be a sarcastic shit sometimes, but he’s never wanted anyone to suffer and he definitely never wanted things to turn out like this.

Her curls his fingers around Tarensa’s, clinging to her hand as his breaths gradually even out again.

 _Sorry,_  he still thinks. _Sorry, sorry, sorry._

The words feels like it’s seared into his throat when he finally falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Pride does not know much about babies.

They are small, and fragile, and in a very early stage of development that takes much longer than what spirits generally go through, though still not more than a few dozen years, it seems. He had considered the prospect of future parenthood as a distant possibility for his life. Something to contemplate, in terms of far-away goals and prospects. But he had not focused much research on the subject of infants, and children, and Waking-born development prior to Mahanon’s arrival.

That changes.

Pride does not know why the infant has such a preoccupation with him.

He researches the matter, but Curiosity assures him that elven children do not imprint on things the way that ducklings do, and that even if they did, they would do it in very quick order. Mahanon does not seem to object to his mothers - nor to anyone, really - and yet, if he sees Pride, he will attempt to engage with him. Without fail. He will talk to him, in his garbled, still-developing speech, and will attempt to follow him, if permitted.

After the third time he leaves a room only to realize - later that he would care to admit - that he has a tiny, toddler-shaped shadow, Pride determines that he must learn more about childcare. If this child is going to continually seek him out, then he is obligated to make certain he is not harmful to Mahanon’s development.

Nurevas and Tarensa mostly seem amused by it.

“You are very fluffy,” Nurevas opines. 

“And not at all intimidating,” Tarensa adds.

Pride suspects she means that as a dig.

But still, they do not seem overly worried that he will harm their son - only they he is proving something of a distraction, and so Pride must learn how to interact with a child, and not simply be subjected to one’s attentions.

“Sola!” Mahanon greets him, at breakfast. Pride has noticed that the child has achieved a pattern at this point. He eats with his parents, before making his way down the dining table. Often he will stop and visit with Thenvunin for a while, or even Mythal. Then he will make his way over to Pride himself, and climb onto the bench beside him, and offer up this ‘good morning’ acknowledgement.

“Hello, Mahanon,” Pride says. “Did you sleep well?”

Mahanon nods, and reaches for a bowl of oatmeal, and before Pride can stop him, spills it across his lap.

He sighs.

Stain-proof clothing has also become a necessity of these new interactions. Mahanon is so clumsy, sometimes he almost thinks it is deliberate. But of course, it is not. The child lacks sinister motive, after all, and has no reason to _want_  to dump hot bowls full of oatmeal or spicy sauce or seasoned melon into his lap.

“He never spills on me,” Thenvunin observes.

Pride rolls his eyes, and shakes his head dismissively. 

“What are you doing today?” Pride asks Mahanon, which is a standard question.

“Lessons,” Mahanon replies. “Allll lessons. Wanna come?”

Pride mentally reviews his schedule. He must attend the morning meeting, and then he will have to check messages, and probably the scouting reports from two of the border outposts will be in by now. And if not, he will have to look into that.

“Perhaps this afternoon,” he allows.

“Okay,” Mahanon says. Then he reaches down under the table, and pulls up something that he has apparently brought with him this time. The sheet of paper has managed to survive the trek up the dining halls, miraculously. Pride wonders if one of Mahanon’s mothers spelled it against damage as the little child gives it to him. “Here. I do for Sola.”

On the piece of paper is a crudely drawn wolf. 

It looks to be setting things on fire.

And very visibly weeping.

“Ah,” Pride says. “…Thank you. I, um. This is very… creative?”

Mahanon pats him on the leg.

“Be good,” the toddler says.

For some reason, the exchange feels strangely ominous.


	4. Chapter 4

Having a goal in life is actually a pretty vital thing, Mahanon’s found. Even if it’s a humble goal. Like ‘sleeping the whole night through without waking up from screaming wrist pains’ or ‘finding a scarf that looks absolutely perfect on Scout Harding’. Simple. Straight-forward.

After the infamous Hallway Meeting, Mahanon’s goal is pretty much this:

Follow Solas.

Because. Well. The guy’s pretty mobile. He could… leave, or something. And then where would Mahanon be? Back to square one, that’s where. Back to being a baby with no idea what’s going on, and while his adoptive mothers are definitely growing on him in a big way, and his sister’s pretty alright, too, he does not want to go back to square one.

The first day of his goal begins in the morning, in the breakfast hall. He spies Solas at the big table, and begins preparations by eating his oatmeal mush about as fast as he inconspicuously can. That’s the simple part.

Getting within range of Solas is trickier.

Fortunately, if there’s one thing elves seem to enjoy, it’s having the attention of an adorable baby. Mahanon squares his shoulders - metaphorically; his actual shoulders are still mostly dough at the moment - and begins schmoozing his way through the crowd.

Even the Orlesian court hadn’t been so taken with his smooth talking.

He makes his way down the table, while his parents keep sending him amused glances. When he finally reaches the end of the table, he sets his sights on the high seats. Mythal’s at the top middle, chatting with one of her attendants. Solas is on her opposite side. Closer by, there’s the guy who looks after the gardens - not Mahanon’s favourite, ever since he saw him just killing a perfectly alive and harmless and not-hurting-anybody lizard (and not even to eat it or anything) - and Thenvunin.

Thenvunin’s his mark, then.

He slips out of the lap of his last one, and toddles on his unsteady legs until he’s up by the flamboyant attendant’s chair. Thenvunin’s quarters are pretty close to Tarensa and Nurevas’, and he’s one of those ‘coo over the baby’ types, all the way. Mahanon adopts his biggest big eyed expression as the man glances down, and then raises his pudgy hands.

“Up?” he asks.

“Oh, hello, little one,” Thenvunin coos, and scoops him up.

Success.

Of course, he can’t move on too quickly. That’d be obvious. So he apologizes to Thenvunin for using him as a stepping stone on to bigger and better things by smooth-talking him a bit, too, and complimenting his buttons, which are actually pretty cool. They’re shaped like eagles, Mahanon thinks. He gets legitimately distracted by them for a minute, while Thenvunin sits with him and offers him one of those powdery sweet tart things that he has yet to master eating without getting entirely sticky.

This is not an exception to that.

He does Thenvunin an favour and resists the urge to wipe his hands on his shirt, though. Instead he wriggles his way out of his lap, offering goodbyes before slipping under the table, and making his way down to wear Solas is sitting instead.

Solas’ leggings promptly volunteer as hand towels.

He’s at that for a few minutes before Solas shifts and looks at him under the table.

“Oh,” he says. “Hello, Mahanon.”

“Sol!” Mahanon greets, mostly happy because _target acquired._

Yes.

Good.

He makes his way over to the bench next to Solas, and manages to almost climb onto it without any help. But after a few failed attempts, Solas’ hands gently close around his sides, and he lifts him up like he’s made of glass, and sits him down onto the padded part of the bench next to him.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” Solas asks, and scans the dining hall. Probably looking for Mahanon’s mamas.

Mahanon shrugs. He’s a baby. Why does he do anything? Definitely not because of specific missions. He absolutely isn’t just a little bit obsessed with the guy who destroyed his world and was also one of his greatest friends and exists in this weird shockingly young version here and now.

Nope.

“Baby do,” Mahanon opines, in a tone that implies that Solas should learn to expect the unexpected from him.

At this point it’s only fair.

Solas seems to accept that, though - probably someone at some point has told him that kids are weird - and goes back to his breakfast. At first. Eventually Mahanon manages to clamber into his lap, though, and occupies himself by scrutinising the details on his vest, and the fluffy white fur on his shoulder, and the little caps on the end of his really ridiculous hair.

Solas with hair is _odd._

And yes, he’s going to focus on that in the magical past full of ancient mage-king gods. Thanks for asking.

His shoulder fluff is pretty soft, though. Mahanon pets at it a bit, and after a few minutes of that, rests his cheek against it. He crossed a lot of territory, come to think of it. And he didn’t really sleep well last night. Too many bad dreams, even after Tarensa came and got him and put him in the big bed between herself and Nurevas. Then he’d just spent a long time thinking about his clan, and about the future, and wondering what had happened to the two of them the first time the world fell apart. Had they been at Mythal’s temple? 

It’s weird to think that some of the ancient elves he’d once contested with are probably here, somewhere, too. People with lives and dreams and no idea that the world can just… fall out from underneath them.

He pats the soft fur, and lets out a long sigh. His eyes droop shut.

The next time he opens them, he’s back in his crib. He blinks, and stares at his window, and frowns.

Well that puts a dent in Project: Follow Solas.

Not that he intends to give up.


End file.
